


Griffins & Greetings

by Illubuu



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Gen, disaster duo plus one, first meetings are always fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 22:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illubuu/pseuds/Illubuu
Summary: Emera and her father take an unfortunate trip to market that ends with a missing cart, a lost horse, and a strange pair of witchers.





	Griffins & Greetings

**Author's Note:**

> And so it begins...

Emera's hands were caked with mud. The earth was still soft and moist, and it clung to her fingers as she pressed it around the base of a small Hellebore she had just put into the ground. The rains last night had been plentiful - almost too plentiful - and had nearly washed out an entire section of the garden. Emera's father had asked her to help him move some of the more fragile seedlings to higher ground.

However, that also meant she was moving the seeds outside of the barrier her father had cast around their property. They would both have to be extra vigilant to keep the forest creatures from taking a share in their crop.

"That the last one?"

Emera nodded. The seedlings looked so small against the backdrop of the forest behind them. She sat back, brushing her hands on her apron. "I hope so. I'm beat and it's hardly morning. Are we casting wards over these?"

Her father shook his head. "It's hard enough sustaining the big one. These lil guys will be fine."

"I could cast this one."

"No, it's-"

Emera huffed. "It's like five feet by five feet. I can handle that!"

"You know that's not what I'm worried about."

Emera watched her father's face. She hated when he looked at her like that. "We already have loads of magic cast around this place. They can't tell who cast it."

“It’s been years since I’ve had run ins with hunters. There’s no telling what methods they might have now.”

“Don’t you think they’d have found us if that was the case?” Emera stood up, brushing off her legs and realizing too late that her dirty hands left dark brown streaks on her skirt. She sighed. “No one comes out this far.”

Emera’s father gave her a knowing look. He pulled the rag out of his back pocket and handed it over to her. “Don’t underestimate them. That’s how you end up dead.”

“You don’t have to get all gloomy about it!” Emera scrubbed as much dirt as she could from her hands. She gave her father a smile as she tossed the rag back at him. “So what now?”

“What now?” Her father echoed. “We’ve got to get going into town soon.”

 _Shit,_ Emera thought. She'd completely forgotten. Today was market day. _And here I thought I could squeeze in a nap._ "We packed up everything a few days ago, right?"

"For the most part. Just have to pack ourselves a lunch and we should be set."

Emera yawned, looking back down at her skirt. She would need to get changed. And by the time they got lunch made, Tangle hooked up to the carriage, and made it into town, it would be mid morning. The market was open from dawn until dusk, and they'd have to be there pretty early to get anything good. 

Lunch ended up being the leftover bread from last night's dinner and two small pieces of cheese. That would have to last them until they made it home for dinner. Emera had tied them up in a small piece of cloth and stuffed them in a basket, which was then nestled beneath the seat of the carriage. 

"When are we going to stop repairing this old thing and just buy a new one?"

Emera's father rolled his eyes. "Why spend all that money when this ol girl works just fine?"

Emera rested her hand on the old, cracked wood. She kicked at the wheel, hearing it creak in response. She gave her father a pointed look.

"You keep kicking it like that, it's no wonder it needs repairs."

"My boot is nothing compared to the roads to town."

"You underestimate the strength of your kick. You put Tangle to shame."

Emera scoffed as she pulled herself up into the driver's spot on the bench. It groaned under her weight. _It’s a wonder this thing hasn’t collapsed already._  She gripped Tangle's reins. "Ready?"

A smile fell onto her father's face as he slid into the bench beside her. "You're driving?"

"You go too slow."

The winding roads out from Emera’s home were old and unkempt. Clumps of dirt and large rocks littered the path, and the grass had started to reclaim it in some parts. The rains had washed out entire sections of the road and she was forced to push Tangle out into the grass. Emera could feel the wagon straining as they pushed through the soft dirt. It would be a half an hour before they neared close enough to a ‘notable’ town that the roads would be maintained enough to smooth out. Though, to call Westfield ‘notable’ was a bit of an overstatement. The town had barely fifty inhabitants that lived there year round.

A cool wind blew from the north and Emera reached to brush the hair from her face. It was always on these rides that she was reminded just how remote her home was. It was for good reason, she knew, but to see nothing but grass and trees for as far as she could see was... humbling. There was only one road that ran out this far, save for the nearly obscured paths that you had to know were there to find. _If we were to die out here, who would know?_

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“I’m trying not to fall asleep.”

Emera’s father laughed. “You always used to love market days. Your mother could hardly keep you from spending the night in this old rickety carriage.”

“Back then I was still young enough that I got to run around and play with the city kids. I didn’t have to work.”

“You call this work?”

Emera shrugged. Buying and selling in the market wasn’t hard work, but it wasn’t particularly enjoyable either. Some of the people were kind enough, and her father knew so many of them it felt more like a weekly family reunion than a shopping trip. Still, the market no longer held the same sort of wonder it had when she was younger. The small town was bigger, louder, and more interesting back then. “I’d like to see Vizima.”

Her father chuckled. “Are you driving for that trip, too?”

“Are you saying we can go?”

“Maybe one we buy a new carriage.”

Emera heaved a sigh. _Of course._ The mountains themselves were more likely to heave themselves up and travel to the city than her father. 

She could completely understand why her father preferred to stay put. The world was a scary, unforgiving place and the further they were from it the less likely they were to have to confront the more ugly parts of society. Yet, in doing so, Emera felt she had been robbed of a chance to experience everything there was to offer. Her world consisted of her home, Westfield, and a few of the even smaller towns she passed on the way there and back. Emera had read enough to know what was out there and, much to her father’s disapproval, with a desire to see it.

They rode a while more in silence until Emera felt the carriage begin to slow. She bent over to make sure they hadn’t found themselves stuck in muck and, upon seeing nothing, turned her eyes to Tangle. 

The horse’s ears were flat against his head. His pace had slowed to a fidgety walk.

Emera jiggled the reins. She had been about to open her mouth when she felt her father’s hand wrap around her arm. She looked to him and he nodded out towards something past her head.

Then, a shrill scream cut through the air.

Tangle stopped dead in his tracks and tried to back up, stopped only by the collection of straps holding him to the cart.

Emera felt goosebumps rise on her skin. She could just barely make out the shadowed form of _something_ flying high above them in the sky. The morning sun made the creature nothing more than a black blur, but its call was something Emera had heard before. “A griffin?”

Her father nodded. He started to get out of the cart and motioned for Emera to follow.

Tangle was panicking now. His hooves pounded into the dirt and the straps jingled as he struggled.

The griffin screeched again.

Emera followed suit, dropped carefully to the ground, wincing everytime the cart creaked too loud. She started to move forward, to try and calm Tangle, but she heard her father’s hissed whisper first.

“Leave it!”

Emera whirled around. “Leave him?”

“The beast’s noticed him by now. He’s good as dead!”

“No!” Emera placed a hand on Tangle’s rump, feeling her heart pull itself into her throat. _If I can just keep him still, the thing will fly overhead._ She rubbed circles into his coat, whispering softly. Tangle was no war horse; he’d lived on the farm his whole life. The most he’d had to deal with were the wolves that sometimes drew too close to the barn. 

“Emera!”

The griffin’s screech came a third time, much closer now.

Emera turned. 

The once vague, black figure had become a massive, brilliantly colored monster. Its feathers glinted in the morning sunlight as in turned to begin a downward dive.

Emera felt her hands tingle. Her body coursed with a live energy, pulling it from a reserve deep within her. She threw them up in front of her, feeling the the crack and spark of electricity before it flew from her fingertips and shot out in the direction of the griffin. 

There was a shrill cry, though Emera couldn’t tell if it was from the griffin or Tangle.

Emera felt a gust of wind blow past her head and she ducked. Her heart thundered in her ears. She turned to follow the shadow, seeing Tangle finally rear and take off down the trail, dragging the cart behind him. _Shit!_ She started to stand, to give chase, but a pair of hands shoved her back down to the ground.

“Stay put!” Her father shouted. 

Emera roughly shrugged her father’s hands off, but did as he asked. Her eyes trailed the griffin as it flew out over the trees and banked around. It pointed turned itself downwards again. Emera was unable to tear her eyes away as the griffin grabbed ahold of Tangle’s body. Her breath hitched in her throat.

The beast struggled to carry the weight of both a horse and carriage - especially with Tangle struggling as much as he was- but it eventually managed to pull itself back above the trees. 

Emera watched it slowly transform again into a formless black mass in the sky before the treeline and distant mountains swallowed it whole. Looking down, Emera saw her hands were shaking.

Emera’s father stood abruptly. He walked into the road and turned back. “What in God’s hell got into you?” 

Emera gestured in the direction that Tangle had run. Her mouth felt dry. “Tangle, I-”

“You have no idea who could have been coming down this trail! What if someone had _seen?_ What would we have done then?” 

“I couldn’t-”

“That as absolutely uncalled for! I’ve taught you _better_ than that, you just don’t listen!” Emera’s father had turned his back to her and began running his hands through his hair. He looked a ways down the road and sighed. His breathing was still ragged and shaky. It was a minute before he turned again. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” Emera opened and closed her fists, willing herself to stop shaking. She must’ve looked pitiful. She hadn’t cast a spell like that in sometime and it felt... strange. Her hair stood on end, but her heart continued to thump rapidly in her chest. The residual energy tingled across her skin. She saw her father’s hand extended towards her and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet. Instead, he pulled her to his chest.

He held her there a moment. “I’m sorry for screaming at you.”

“I know.” Emera returned the hug and, when she pulled back, let her father bring his hands to her face. 

“You cannot be that reckless.”

“I know.”

“A griffin will kill you. A witch hunter will make you wish for death.”

“I know.”

Emera’s father drew her into another hug, and then pointed down the road. “We should see what we can salvage. We’re more than halfway there, we can stay in town for tonight.”

When they’d reached where the carriage had tipped, there wasn’t much left. The herbs blended in too well with the grass to find and a majority containers of tonic and salves had shattered when they hit the ground. It was a near total loss.

Emera bent over in the grass and pulled up a small cloth wrapped package. She held it up for her father to see. “At least we still have lunch.”

They nibbled on the cheese and bread as they walked in silence towards Westfield. The morning sun gave way to noon and the heat as beginning to grow unbearable. Emera had not dressed for walking and her feet ached. She realized a little too late that neither she or her father had found their water bags. Her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth.

It was early afternoon when Emera and her father finally drew upon the town of Westfield. The Market was, thankfully, still in full swing, though Emera found it more exhausting than anything. She made a beeline for the tavern, swinging open the door and relishing in the chance to finally sit down.

“Lawrence!”

Emera plopped down onto one of the benches.

Darla had owned this tavern, the West House, as long as Emera had been coming here. The old woman was far more spirited than her appearance gave her credit for. She rushed out from behind the bar to hurry over to Emera and her father. “God’s be, what happened to you both?”

 _We must look worse than we thought._ Emera reflexively ran a hand across her forehead. It came back slick with sweat. 

“Monster took our horse and ruined the cart,” her father answered. He sat down beside Emera. “You got any open rooms?”

“For you? Always.” Darla put her hands on her hips. “I’m going to gets you both something to drink. Sit tight.”

Emera leaned over, putting her shoulder against her father’s. “I’m sorry for earlier.”

Her father shook his head. “No, I understand. You’re too much like me for your own good.”

Emera laughed, glancing up as she heard the doors to the tavern swing open. 

Two women strode in, their well tailored armor standing out against the more plainly dressed farmers and the brightly colored merchants. The thick leather and shiny metal looked to be covered with dried blood and Emera might have been more concerned had she not also taken notice of the medallions hung around their necks.

Emera blinked. _Witchers? Female witchers?_  

The taller one, a brunette, was hunched beneath a cloak befitting of someone much larger. Despite the heat, she wore it with the hood up. Only her muted, bloodstained gauntlets and boots were completely visible.

Beside her stood a woman much shorter, her red hair twisted wildly atop her head. Unlike her companion, she wore a confident expression and seemed to be surveying the room, her eyes eventually falling onto Emera.

Emera averted her gaze. She whispered to her father, “When were there women witchers?”

Her father looked up and saw the two women, but shrugged. “Times are changing.”

“So it seems.” 

The female witchers eventually made their way over to an empty table and Darla returned with the drinks.

Emera downed hers in a single swig. The cold, sweet drink felt heavenly on her parched throat. A load felt like it had been lifted from her shoulders and her head felt lighter. She set her cup on the table.

“Goodness,” Darla said. “That ordeal must’ve taken a bit out of you.”

“It was something,” Emera’s father replied. “Can’t say I’d want to do it again.”

Darla gestured to the stairs. “I’ve got both of your rooms set up, the first rooms at the top of the stairs.” She paused. “Do you want me to have someone prepare you baths? I know we don’t normally do that, but you both look like you could use a soak. My bathing house is just behind here. It’s small, but it works. What about something to eat? I’ve got pork and beef... vegetables if that sounds too heavy. I know travelling can take a lot out of you...”

Emera’s father laughed. “Thank you, Darla, but I think we’re alright for now. Yeah, Emmy?”

Emera had continuously been glancing over to where the witchers had taken their seats. She gave her father a small nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Witchers caught your eye?” Darla laughed. “They always do draw a crowd.”

“Are they regulars?” Emera asked.

“No, never seen them in here before. We gets their kind in here time to time - usually when the farmers put out their notices of nekkers crawling out from the forest or villagers about drowners coming too close for comfort. They’re so few and far between, though, that I don’t think I’ve ever seen the same witcher twice.” Darla looked over her shoulder. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lady witcher before.”

“Me neither,” Emera replied. She looked to her father who, immediately understanding her intentions, shook his head.

“Leave it be, Emmy.”

“You want to walk home with a griffin flitting about the sky?”

“It wanted the horse, not us.”

“It’ll eat whatever it can get its hands on.”

“We don’t have the money to hire a witcher.”

Emera looked over to the women again, and then back at her father. “I’m sure I can figure something out.”

“Emmy-”

Emera didn’t wait to hear what else her father had to say. Instead, she stood up - finding herself surprisingly unsteady on her feet - and wobbled over to the witcher’s tables. _Whatever Darla gave us to drink must’ve been strong._ She plopped herself down beside the red head and grinned. “Hello.”

The brunette stared from beneath her hood, saying nothing.

The other, however, returned Emera’s smile. “Hello to you, too.”

Emera suddenly felt nervous. How exactly did people ask witchers to do things? Weren’t they usually done in the form of contracts? Emera looked about, but she doubted there would be any paper around she could use. She wet her lips. “You’re... witchers?”

“The one and only! Er, not the _only_ only but... you know what I mean. Rhodith and Daria, at your service.” The woman paused. “I’m Rhodith. She-” Rhodith gestured across the table, “is Daria.”

Daria lifted a hand in a small wave.

“Emera,” Emera replied in kind. She blinked, putting an arm on the table. She chanced a glance at her father. He had his head in his hands. Darla was watching her warily. _It’s not like I’m talking to criminals._ Emera looked back to the pair. “You guys fight monsters, right?”

Rhodith tossed a glance at Daria, then looked back to Emera. A smile started to crawl up on her lips. “That _is_ in our job description, yes.”

“Well then,” Emera started, lacing her fingers in front of her. “How do you feel about griffins?”


End file.
